


(i can't stand it) my heart can't take this damage

by tyomawrites



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Multi, Multiple character deaths mentioned, Post Ragnar's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: Floki thinks about all the people he's loved and lost.





	(i can't stand it) my heart can't take this damage

Floki loved his friends first. Ragnar, with his wide eyed curiosity and his desire to know more. Ragnar, who at the age of fifteen had lean muscle and sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue while he chased Floki through the trees outside his hut, far away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the people in Kattegat. 

Arne and Leif had come next. The pair of them had followed Ragnar to the hut one day with curious eyes at the age of seventeen, hunting bows strapped to their backs while Ragnar carried a buck over his shoulders. Arne was shy and sweet and looked at Floki like he was something to be amazed by. Lief was as devoted to the gods as Floki was and Floki was relieved and excited to have a friend he could share his mushrooms with and laugh with as they walked beyond the veil with the gods. They were kind smiles and gentle touches, and they took over from Ragnar once he and Lagertha had gotten together.

Helga had come next, in the whirlwind of blond hair and her gentle, delicate smile. She was wild, untamed, her heart fluttering like a little bird underneath her ribs as he pressed his hands to her naked skin and bracketed her to the bed. She scratched his back and teased his lips. She touched his face and ran his fingers along the kohl around his eyes and smiled at him like he was a god and Floki  _loved her._  

Torstein had come at a surprise. He was a shared interest with Helga. It was Helga who had pointed Torstein's hands first, and his large frame that could bracket both their small and thinner frames. And then Ragnar had been attacked by Earl Haraldson's men and Helga had coaxed him to invite Torstein into bed with them and he'd fallen in love with Torstein too.

His daughter Angrboda had his heart. She had his eyes, his wild eyes, as they darted around the place while she was swaddled. But she had Helga's hair bunched on the top of her head and she had Helga's smile and her gurgle sounded suspiciously like Helga's laugh. She was his light. The light of his life. She was a part of him, she carried a part of him in her and his  _daughter_ was beautiful.

 

* * *

 

 

Leif was the first. Floki wanted to protest, offer himself as he'd been pleasing the gods since the day he was born. Floki's heart ached, even with Helga's hand comfortingly slipped into his and Arne and Torstein's presences standing firmly behind him. Lief was a good sacrifice. A willing sacrifice. A worthy one. Floki blinked back tears and hoped that Lief would find his place in Valhalla.

Arne was the second to go. Ran through by Rollo in while Floki lay injured and unable to protect him. It hurt, to see One Eye lifted by some sort of inhumane strength, gasping for air while it was punched out of his throat. He was terrified, Floki was terrified. Arne would die, he would die, and they would all be slaughtered because of Rollo's betrayal. For the first time in a long time, he was terrified he'd never be able to remind Arne, Torstein, Ragnar,  _Helga_ , his love. They return back to Kattegat, where Helga brought him their child, and he named her Angrboda because her name will protect her while he cannot. 

Torstein suffered more than he should, and Floki, Floki is so angry. They've all fallen for the Christian's tricks and lies, and then Torstein was gone, fighting a pointless fight, earning a pointless death. He wept next to Torstein's body, his blue eyes are dimmed while he stared up towards the sky, towards Valhalla. Floki sensed them, the Valkyrie's next to Torstein, next to their fallen brothers.

His daughter Angrboda had died. And he wasn't even there to hold her body as her last breath left her body. He felt one more part of his soul leaving him and it hurt him, more than he would ever admit, and more than he would ever recover from. 

Then he had lost Ragnar. The sky shook and the winds swept across the fjord and the whole of Kattegat had rumbled, and it seemed that only Floki could feel it. Only Floki could see the ravens. Could hear them caw and screech behind him and above him. Ragnar had died. He could hear Ragnar, in his head, echoing his words. Words from they were children, from when they were growing up. From learning from each other.

Then Helga had brought home Tanaruz with them from the Mediterranean and called Tanaruz their daughter. Floki was wary, he was scared, worried. Would she replace Angrboda's memory, if he was to accept her as his daughter. The poor girl shook at almost every moment. She had flinched time after time again and Floki had tried so desperately to appear as non-threatening as possible to her. Then the realization came that she was absolutely terrified and his heart had broken into smaller pieces, because when he looked at her, all he could think of, was what if she was Angrboda, taken away from him and Helga to some new family. So he had slipped her a knife. He had brought her home to Helga and that night once Tanaruz was asleep, he pushed his hands across Helga's waist and stomach and kissed her and held his hands over her ribs to feel the flutter of her heartbeat under his hands once again.

Returning to England to avenge Ragnar had always felt right. And he had returned with his family, with Helga and Tanaruz. With the boys who put their trust in him to advise them. Bjorn and Ubbe, who keep their heads on their shoulders with some simple advice. Hvitserk who already has the makings of the great warrior like his older brothers and father. Sigurd, with his lute and laughing smile, the snake that wanders though his eyes. Ivar, with his sharper mind and his even sharper tongue. All of them, his family.

Then the rest of his soul died with the slow fade of Helga's heartbeat under the palm of his hands. Tanaruz's own body laid still beside her and Helga had clutched onto his face and spoke to him with shaky breaths. He buried her, with trinkets and his knife. He buried her with tears streaming over the kohl that lined his face and the tears dripped from his face to her chest, leaving darkened spots onto the orange of her dress. He wept for a long time. Until he had no more tears left to cry. 

He resigned himself to the gods. He didn't understand. He'd done all he had asked. Now all he was given was pain and death.

He'd lost everyone he'd loved.

As he rowed his one man boat from the river, staring at the boys as they stood on the riverbank, sans Bjorn. He glanced upwards towards the sky while the wind slowly drifted past his ears. It sounded suspiciously like Helga's twinkling laugh.

_He died a little more inside._


End file.
